So here we are – 4 months into intern year and I’m a couple weeks away from popping out our second kid (Ahem, I mean, beautifully birthing another precious human into this world). Rob is on another demanding rotation with a schedule that allows him about seven hours in-between shifts. Seven hours to get home, eat, get ready for bed, sleep, wakeup, get ready, and go back to work. It’s like Groundhog Day. With a lot less sleep. Plus, to add to the fun, the schedule switches between nights and days for the next several weeks.

Besides the intense hours, he’s learning a lot and feels very supported in his program. His spirits are up and we’re enjoying the passing moments when we do get about 15-20 minutes to catch up with each other. I actually think his biggest concern right now is that I’m going to deliver Roberta Jr. early and he won’t be able to take any time off.

I’m in the same mental state I’ve been this whole pregnancy, “Eh, it’ll be fine.” Somehow for this pregnancy my worry button got totally turned off.

But, I do have to admit that my “Eh, it’ll be fine” attitude is starting to sour as I become more and more unable to do things. I’m slowly growing into the size of whale (or it feels that way), I tire quickly, my whole body hurts, my circulation is terrible, and I’m constantly hungry but don’t want to make anything. Plus, I’m solo-parenting a 2-year old.

Now here’s a fun mental picture for you: Imagine me in my super preggo, full-on-waddle state while I wrestle a testy toddler on the ground to get her pants on. Pookie is so amazing, cute, loveable, fun, blah, blah, and all that, yes. BUT, she also is an almost three-year old who lives by the motto, “I wonder what will happen if I…”

Unfortunately for her, I love following through with consequences (that’s one of my strengths that I’m happy to admit – perhaps it’s my rule follower nature), so she gets to experience the consequence full on, the first time.

I do get a little sassy at times, to keep it bearable. For example:

Me: “Okay, it’s time to get dressed to go. Would you like to put on your shirt or your pants first?”
Pookie: “No!”

Me: “I see you don’t want to get dressed, but it’s time to go. If you don’t choose, I’ll choose for you.”
Pookie: “No!”

Me: “I will ask one more time and if you don’t come over here and help me put your pants on, I will hold you down and put them on for you. Can you come over here and help me put your pants on please?”
Pookie: “NO!!” with a devilish grin on her face.

Me: “Seriously? We’re gonna do this? Okay, here we go. This isn’t going to be pleasant for either of us.”

Commence holding her down with one hand and pulling on the pants with the other hand while Pookie is acting like a rabid dog half-crying and half-laughing. I get the pants on because I’m pretty badass like that, even in my whale-ish form.

At least once I lay down the law, she’s pretty cooperative for the next several hours. I start to regain hope that I’ll be able to survive having more than one of these things called children.

I’ve decided after moments like this to not check social media for the rest of the day. I can’t see pictures of happy kids or friends on vacation. I just feel like I’ve spent all my energy reserves for that day not enjoying the time with my kid, not developing myself, and not serving others in some great capacity. All I’ve got is that I put pants on my daughter. Sainthood, here I come!

But these are the moments, right? In the thick of it, rising to the occasion and giving it your all. This is what I keep telling myself. As I prepare for labor and our new toddler+infant life, I might adopt this as my motto:

I will rise to the occasion. I will give my it all!! (And not drink too much wine afterwards.)